


Water

by entanglednow



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Showers, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-15
Updated: 2010-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-14 12:29:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are organs on the third shelf of the fridge again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Water

  
There are organs on the third shelf of the fridge again. The third shelf is not for organs and miscellaneous experiments.

They've _talked_ about this.

John swears under his breath and follows the sound of irritated muttering all the way to the bathroom. He pushes the door open with a hand, an argument for how this is totally unacceptable already in the back of his throat.

There's a wet towel on the floor.

There's a wet towel on the floor and Sherlock is _completely_ naked.

John comes to an unsteady stop just inside the door.

Sherlock's turned away from him, rifling through one of the cupboards. He's an impossible stretch of long, pale lines and angles, unexpected curves of muscle, wrists almost delicate on the end of arms that are just a fraction too long.

The line of his back seems to go on forever.

John tells himself to get the hell out of the bathroom.

To get the hell out of the bathroom _now_.

Sherlock's hair is still wet, it curls darkly at the back of his neck, water trailing out of it and down his spine, unevenly following the dip of every vertebrae. Until it rolls over the curve of - John really shouldn't be looking. But he can't move and he knows this isn't even close to simple curiousity now. This is - _Jesus_ \- he's staring and he knows it. Skin suddenly too hot, blood strangely loud in his ears.

John's distantly aware that if he stays here much longer Sherlock is going to turn around. But he can't quite make his feet move, and he's still looking at Sherlock's arse, and the impossible length of his legs. The way water droplets still cling to his skin in a way that's suddenly the most fucking fascinating thing he's ever seen. It's far too late to pretend he's not reacting to it, to any of it.

He thinks he makes some sort of noise - which forces him to look up.

Sherlock's watching him in the mirror, and John doesn't have the faintest idea how long the other man's been aware of him, or how long he's been staring at him.

John manages a hoarse, fractured 'sorry' and steps out of the room backwards, dragging the door shut behind him.

He stumbles his way back to the kitchen, realises absently that he's left the fridge door open, doesn't even care.

  



End file.
